


Where we're going we don't need roads

by Necronaut666



Category: Versailles no Bara | Rose of Versailles
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Music, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Guitars, Heavy Metal, Inspired by Music, Metal band, Music, Musicians, Reincarnation, Rock Stars, Romance, Second Chance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-30 03:50:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3921838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Necronaut666/pseuds/Necronaut666
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Buildings burn, people die, but real love is forever. Or so they say.</p>
<p>Young leader of an alternative band, Forêt de Roses, takes her first steps in a world of art, deceit, beauty and passion. Will her heart guide her in right direction?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Memories](https://archiveofourown.org/works/819475) by [Nana_41175](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nana_41175/pseuds/Nana_41175). 



> This fic is inspired by wonderful work "Memories" by Nana_41175. I really like the idea of reincarnation, as original story leaves very little room for fanfiction without changing course of events. I wanted to do entirely different take on the idea, so I took some liberties when it comes to how characters are portrayed, I also ommited some of the events and added other. 
> 
> Each chapter is inspired by song. Just google the title, it's worth it :) I'm also going to illustrate the series. 
> 
> Also, English is not my native language so some mistakes may appear :)

17th of July, 1789

Rosalie Lamorliere stares coldly at two tombstones. Bernard embraces her protectively.  
\- I didn’t know they were married. – He says reading the inscription.  
\- They weren’t. But wanted to do that on the 14th of July – Rosalie sobs. – I think it was her last wish. They are united now, forever.  
\- It would be better for them to be united here, alive.  
\- Would you leave me alone for a minute? I want to pray alone.  
Bernard moves away, not taking eyes off kneeling Rosalie. The wind plays with his hair and her black veil, resembling funeral banners. On the horizon, they see dark clouds of smoke over burning Paris.  
\- God, oh god, if you do exist – Rosalie whispers in tears, folding hands as to a prayer – please give them another chance. A better life. In better times. They deserve this, don’t you think? Don’t you? – she shouts last words to the stormy sky scaring cemetery crows then falls on the muddy ground.  
\- Come on, darling. It’s time. – Bernard helps her on her feet and escorts his wife from the necropolis. She turns her head as they leave to once again witness a double grave bearing two names.

“Oscar Francois Grandier  
1755 – 1789  
Andre Grandier  
1754 -1789  
Fata viam invenient”


	2. Cherry Quartz

13th of July, 2014

Oscarine Jarjayes, 25-year old rising star of underground metal scene from Paris walks home in the sunset. The evening is warm and pleasant and Parisian walkways glisten beautifully in the sunset as she is pacing through crowds of people with a full backpack and guitar case in her hand. She looks different from yuppies, tourists and elegant ladies crowding the streets. Big black hood hides her wild, gold locks, large blue eyes shine through uneven fringe. The girl walks in a straight line unflinchingly and forces people to come out of her way. Head held high, she is impervious to scornful looks thrown by pedestrians. Clad in black, big combat boots on her feet, she walks the night fearlessly. It’s her glorious day. Her band, Forêt de Roses, scored a big recording deal – they were to begin recording new material for their split album with Swedish ensemble, Black Lustre, with major tour in sight. All this on that very special date –tomorrow, Bastille Day marked her 25th birthday, and her closest friend and roommate, Andre Grandier celebrated his exactly day before. They have their own little tradition to join those causes and stay up all night between those two dates, drinking only in mutual company. It was two years ago, when first and last party they threw in their flat resulted in thirteen additional uninvited people, unknown girl overdosing in the bathroom and some guy getting hit on a face with a lamp when he tried to lay hands on Oscar. Constant lack of money was also another factor for keeping their celebration for themselves.

But not this year. Hours of loneliness, hard work and self-denial are finally paying off. Their hard-earned money from contract is guaranteed, their records and merch sell better and better every day. Andre got some better producing deals. Soon they are going to play on Hellfest.   
Oscar smiles to herself, her eyes brightened with thoughts of victory. The music in her earphones, newest Lantlos record, matches her exhilaration as her heart almost tears her breast and flies away with joy. She gave everything to live this dream. As soon as she finished school she worked low-end jobs to make ends meet. Never had a boyfriend. Attended parties only when they could strengthen the position on the scene. Survived endless battles with unprofessional and bossy people who entered and left the band. Secured stable, if difficult to deal with, line up. And now she almost flies over the pavement, getting closer to her flat on Montmartre.  
She would never afford living there if not for her grandmother, who decided to leave the flat to her youngest granddaughter and move in with her parents. And as Andre stayed whole days and nights with her anyway, helping her with mastering, recording and creative decisions, she asked him to move in as her roommate. Oscar congratulated herself on this decision every day, as Andre seemed to be her shadow. Quiet, neat and focused on his job, he understood her well. He knew when to be beside her and when to leave. Also, after years on living next door to him and his grandmother she couldn’t warm up to the idea of calling him every damn time she wanted to talk.  
Her phone rings suddenly as she is climbing up the stairs to their apartment on Rue Ramey.   
\- Absolutely important question. Chinese takeout or pizza? – familiar voice also resounds with joy.  
\- Pizza above all! – Oscar replies. – I took care of the drinks.  
\- Where are you? Shall I pick you up on your way home?  
\- I’m already here. – she mumbles holding her phone in place with her shoulder as she is trying to open the door. – Hurry up!  
\- Can’t wait.

Their apartment is placed on the attic and rather modest. It’s furnishing probably remembers the time when Oscar’s grandmother used to ride on her Peugeot scooter clad in polka dot dress but everything is remarkably clean and in good shape. It consists of two rooms, almost nonexistent kitchen and small bathroom. The Eiffel tower glows majestically on the horizon, visible through the windows. There are tour posters on the walls and doors. Oscar’s room is bigger and doubles as living room, as Andre’s bedroom is filled to the brim with various equipment. She enters her quarters and opens her backpack, putting bottle of Jack Daniels and absinthe on the end table. As soon as she ends taking a quick shower the front door creak. Andre throws his heavy cases on the floor. Even for such tall and strong man it is much to carry.   
\- Hey, why didn’t you call me? I would get down to help you. – Oscar peeks from the bathroom. Her golden locks are damp and stick to her face.   
\- Are you joking? Each one of this cases weighs as much as you. Leave it to the professional.  
He laughs, dark hair wet and tousled with the wind, face flushed, and hands her bags with food.  
\- Do you have it? – Oscar asks inquisitively.   
\- Of course – he grins, taking a bag of weed from inner pocket of his leather jacket. – On the day which marks the fall of monarchy, we will get royally wasted!  
And they both laugh as the night unveils.


	3. We could fail again

Soon the room drowns in smoke and laughter, as they sit on her bed, sipping whiskey and weaving dreams and hopes.  
\- I had never hoped this would end up this way – Oscar muses, gazing dreamily at Parisian skyline. – It’s not really popular music, after all. Not like we would be another Metallica, I guess, but this is remarkable.  
\- I think it’s safe to assume that not being new Metallica is a good thing. This means you won’t get yourself to spew shitty albums and wear dad shorts – laughs Andre. – I guess this is easier because how the scene looks lately. You know, Alcest, Lantlos, Deafheaven, they blazed the trail and turned the attention of the listeners. Your concept is quite original too, Versailles and court was a topic entirely hogged by Japanese men in dresses and faux gothic bands. No one thought about it when it comes to atmospheric music.  
\- Well, I hope that lack of flair would be my strongest ally – she says, taking another puff and lowering herself on the bed. She now lies beside Andre, her golden hair curl like snakes on red sheets.  
He cannot help but think how incredibly beautiful she is. This thought is impossible to banish and encircles his stunned, stubborn mind.  
\- How exactly did you get that idea? You never told me about it. – he dives into the conversation to get his mind further from that, to forget.  
\- I do not know – she says, her voice hazy and sleepy – it’s like I have lived there and then. It was always familiar and close. Maybe I was someone from there in another life. Some servant or…  
\- Or courtier? – Andre suggests.  
\- I? I was never a courtier – she laughs – I definitely was a soldier or guard. Someone who leads, not follows.  
\- Of course you are born to lead. This is how you keep everything in place, especially Alain – the remark about hot – headed drummer of Forêt de Roses makes them both laugh again.  
\- You know, Andre… - Oscar starts hesitantly – Sometimes I feel I have met a lot of people I knew before. Like, you know, when your grandmother brought you to play with me… I felt like I have always knew you. From another life, maybe. Maybe we were friends, some ragtag soldiers drinking their nights away? – she smiles dreamily.

Damn it. 

\- Maybe we were. – He agrees as she falls asleep, thinking to himself that they were no soldiers.  
If they really knew each other from another life he could easily be a knight in love with an unattainable queen or lady. He gazes at her, and the words of song playing quietly in the background burn into his mind.  
  
  
What’ s the meaning of talking ‘bout protection now?  
We will never be close…oh so close together now  
What’ s the meaning of talking ‘bout conviction now?  
We will never be close…oh so close together now  
What remains of love when we know we can destroy ourselves?  
  
  
It lasts for years, his quiet love for her, kept contained by fear of destroying their bond, their fragile balance of love and friendship. And now, drunk with absinthe and her beauty, he does not know how long could he manage to contain himself. She sleeps so innocently beside him, curled and helpless, and all he can think about is how much he wants to kiss her.  
And in a blink of an eye he does this, and touches her lips for a brief moment, and that moment is heaven. A short second which lasts for ever. His heart almost tears his ribcage in two, as he moves away mortified with what he had done. Oscar moves slightly in her sleep, smiling and turning in her bed. Andre decides to cover her with a blanket and move away from her as soon as possible.  
So Andre locks himself in his room, opens the windows wide and lights a cigarette while sitting on a windowsill. It’s 3 AM and city still refuses to sleep. Tourists and partygoers writhe like maggots on the streets of Montmarte. Billions of people, yet he is all alone.  
He clearly recons when it had started and can pinpoint this moment when he fell in love with her, suddenly and violently, at once. It was when they ran away to attend Wacken Open Air against their families wishes. They lied about staying with their friend’s family in Provence and hitchhiked all the way to Germany with borrowed tent and limited sum of money. He still holds dear their photo from this trip, the one on which they stand before the main stage, she still not ashamed of her Nightwish t-shirt, sticking her tongue out, he with barely any facial hair. Andre reckons Type O Negative concert, when they stayed just by the stage. He stood behind her to protect her from the crowd and was forced as close to her as never before. Everything just worked together, the stars, that overwhelming feeling of freedom, Peter Steele crooning “Cinnamon Girl” and warmth of her body close to his. He had never felt this way before. Maybe he could make a move that night, make use of the atmosphere and try to kiss her, but he was too afraid then, and now it’s too late.  
It’s too late and he, a grown man, sits like a fool, crying while woman he loves keeps him close, but not close enough for him. Some people joke about it and call it friendzone. For him, it’s a painful reality.

 

Sunny, whiskey soaked morning comes and they eat their breakfast of stale, factory-packaged croissants and black coffee together. Oscar is visibly hangover and sits by the table in fuzzy, old bathrobe, her hair a mess. Andre tries to play it cool, praying she doesn’t remember much of her last night.  
  
\- Happy birthday – he greets her with a smile and sits on the opposite side of the table – are you seeing your parents today?  
\- You must be joking – Oscar scoffs him over her cup - even ticking of the clock is too painful for me at the moment and I should bear my parents, sisters and your grandmother? No way. Besides, we need rest. I have received message from Louis. We have a lot of work to do.  
\- What is he up to?  
\- Black Lustre comes to Paris next week. We enter the studio soon. Louis wants to throw a party to make good impression on the band and sign the contract. It’s imperative that every one of us who is involved in the project must attend. This means Alain, Victor, Bernard, me, you, and even Rosie. The event is in Pandemonium club, next friday. His girlfriend, Mari Mayhem, would do poledance and fireshow then.  
\- Mari Mayhem? – Andre almost spits his coffee on the table – That Mari Mayhem is Louis’ girlfriend? Who knew?  
\- You know her?  
\- She is one of most famous alternative models by now. I have never thought guy like that could be with a woman like that. She is absolutely stunning.  
  
Oscar feels weird as Andre speaks of this woman. She knows him for many years, but have never heard him saying anything about girls before. Maybe she is too engrossed in her affairs to notice his attractions? The fact that her best friend’s sympathies bother her makes Oscar uneasy.  
  
\- She is a minor player in this game. Our main goal is to make good impression with Black Lustre, especially Axel, their singer. He is the head of this band. We must secure the deal, recording of a split album and having you as an engineer not only for our part, but also for Black Lustre.  
\- I hope Alain isn’t going to do something stupid, as always – Andre grins and leaves to take a shower.  
While he is away Oscar finishes her coffee and thinks. Many thoughts plague her mind lately. Especially Axel. She saw his photos once – tall, blonde and handsome. The kind of guy who gets constantly featured on blogs, tumblrs and facebook pages with most handsome men. He seems to have eyes that pierce the soul. She is dreaded and excited to meet him.


End file.
